


Entrapment

by Nalyra



Series: A blackish red hue [7]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, M/M, Murder Husbands, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-19 01:31:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7339141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nalyra/pseuds/Nalyra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They have been caught.</p><p>Canon-compliant to SotL & Hannibal. Or as much as possible.<br/>With a twist of course. Blink and it's gone smut.</p><p>>> If you haven't, start with Baptism (pt 1 of this series), I do think it's necessary for character development.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I cried writing this.  
> You may hate me.  
> Still, couldn't stop.  
> Short but I think to the spot.
> 
> ((Also, I'm just quitting any notions of "I'll be on vacation bla bla" until I'm on the plane.))

Will picks at the broccoli with his plastic fork, feeling lethargic. Days have blended into another, his indoor cell windowless, the artificial day always kept the same. He sighs and puts the tray own, closing his eyes. The intercom crackles.

„Mr. Graham, if you do not finish your food, reading privileges for today will be revoked.“

Will grinds his teeth, hard, jaw working, annoyed as hell as always when they refuse to acknowledge his correct name. He slowly bends down and picks the tray back up, fighting the impulse to throw it at the wall. Won’t do much good in the long run. He curses inwardly and opens his eyes again while his hand fumbles for the fork. The white, padded wall across him bears the scratches he puts there in the dead of night, when they turn off the lights for the meager 4 hours of peace and quiet he is granted. He unfocused his eyes deliberately, the scratches blurring, the sheer amount daunting. 156 of them, now. Almost 6 months that he has been in here, not counting the hospital wing stay. He swallows and brings a piece of broccoli to his mouth mechanically, chewing on it, the taste ashen. 

An orderly he has privately dubbed ‚Frankie‘ comes up quietly and stands in front of his glass front, the center window a door, quietly and patiently waiting for him to finish the overcooked and under salted food and then pass the tray through the slot. They never talk to Will and he gave up trying after a while. The orderly leaves, but returns with his current allowed book after 5 minutes, pushing it through the slot and leaves again. Will sighs and gets um from the mattress on the floor, his joints aching and retrieves it.  
It’s ‚1984‘ this time and he can’t help but grin wryly at Alana’s humor, all the books somehow connected with his current predicament. So the subject of their next chat will be somehow connected to ‚surveillance‘. He spends the next 5 hours reading, knowing the time only because it’s the same every day, the books always fitted to be read in that timeframe.

The chime rings, announcing his visitor and Will pushes himself up again, pushing the book through the slot before drawing back, crouching against the wall. He expects a doctor, the same questions every day, detailing his bodily functions and is surprised when Alana walks in. She hasn’t visited him for three months now. The book was probably a forewarning then.

She walks up to his cell, quietly taking a seat on the lonely chair there. Her suits have gone, as well as the color, wearing designer blue jeans and black silken blouses these days, offset with expensive jewelry. She doesn’t hide her exhaustion from him, sighing deeply when she sits down and then she smiles at him.

„Will. How good to see you.“

It’s been the exact same greeting every time she comes here and even though it has been a while since the last time, Will is so sick of it he has a vision of biting his own wrists open just to get her to change it. He swallows the image down, a flash of Hannibal kissing his wrist point relieving the bitterness somewhat and drops his gaze, letting it flit across the branding, lending him strength as always.

„Alana.“

His voice is gravelly, unused most of the day, the only conversations with her. He tried yelling at them before, waiting for -some- response through the intercom, but they refrained. They always refrain. He raises his head again.

„They tell me that you finally follow instructions properly. I am delighted. Such a good boy.“

The last bit is said teasingly, and Will looks stoically at the floor, not daring to raise his eyes to her. Let her think she’s broken him. She continues, always so amicable in tone.

„Of course, they told me that you didn’t want to eat up. You know we can’t have that, Will. You’ll need your strength.“

For what, his mind screams though his mouth stays silent. He nods lightly, swallowing, forcing himself to speak softly. Always softly. 

„The broccoli was too raw still. And could use some salt.“

Alana chuckles and then smiles widely.

„Hannibal has spoiled you. I -am- sorry.“

Will forces down another bout of bitterness. If she only knew to which all time lows Hannibal stooped in order for them to stay successfully on the road. He remembers Hannibals face after a bite of pop tart and almost giggles, covering it up as a cough instead. Alana raises her eyebrow, tilting her head.

„Oh, I hope you are well?“

Not that she’d care. They had transferred him here right away after he was able to breathe on his own again, swallow fluids. He had lain there, pain medication non existent, unable to voice his needs until his throat had healed, forced to sip watery porridge through a straw. He fakes a smile in thanks to her inquiry.

„Only a certain scratchiness. Not much use these days.“

Her answering smile is wide and fake.

„Yes. Pity.“

Will sighs through his nose, forcing a grin.

„Anything I can do for you, Alana?“

She crosses her legs, red lipstick offsetting the brilliant white of her teeth again beautifully, voice melodic. 

„Actually, there is. We have taken note of your scratches. I’m not sure whether you should be allowed to keep them.“

Will swallows, closing his eyes for a moment, forcing another smile, everything in him screaming to keep his only way to track the days. 

„Ah. How … could I possibly tip this decision in my favor?“

Alana smiles at him and looks sideways at something he cannot see. A folder is brought to her and she traces the edges for a moment. 

„I will have to convince certain people of your usefulness. You will help a good friend of mine catch some minor criminals. One each week. If you keep your quota you may keep your scratches and we will even install a TV outside your cell. I know you have been bored out of your skull.“

It’s an understatement, Will has been going stir crazy by now, the toilet a hole in the floor, the walls padded, nothing to even push against in exercise, even the floor padded. He draws a deep breath and raises his chin.

„Give me the folder.“

Alana smirks and bends forward, pushing the folder through.

„The clips are counted.“

Will smirks wryly.

„Of course.“

He reaches for it and sits down again on the mattress heavily. She interrupts him before he can open it.

„One more thing. Remember those tests you agreed to during Hannibals trial. The ones in exchange for the allowance of the insanity plea?“

He grinds his teeth and nods, once.

„We want to continue those. You may pick a book of your choosing in return for your signing the relevant forms.“

Will closes his eyes for a moment, tilting his head, his neck popping.

„Still want to get to the bottom of my… problems?“

Alana laughs softly.

„Oh, I know your problem. But since you were so kind to get involved with mine, I will make sure to get the best out of our current situation for everyone. Well, almost everyone.“

She stands up, coming closer to the glass door with its little air holes. 

„Now, I will return to my family, the values of which you made so perfectly clear.“

She turns, only to turn back, Will watching wearily.

„He has lost weight, you know. Must hate the food even more than you.“

Will swallows tightly, knowing it’s not the food that has Hannibal suffering. He fidgets but cannot not ask, the first time that she has acknowledged that she has been to see him. His husband. Who they refuse to let him see. Or even talk to him about.

„Would you relay a message for him? From me? Please? Since you did not put us in adjoining cells after all.“

Alana smirks, tracing her fingers over the glass between them.

„Oh Will, didn’t they tell you?“

She bends downs slightly to catch his gaze, Wills pulse picking up speed in dread.

„We told him you claimed Stockholm syndrome after we resuscitated you, remembering nothing? And so we pulled some strings and sent you home to Molly, who lives down here in Florida now as well by the way. Well supposedly, of course. Officially you’re even working for us from time to time.“

His response is immediate.

„Bullshit. He wouldn’t fall for that.“

Alana laughs softly.

„The mighty Hannibal Lecter. He is so intelligent… and yet. When it comes to his newly resuscitated emotions he is so… infantile, letting them overrule his brain. We showed him a photoshopped picture of you and Molly at the beach.“

She straightens back up, her smile serene.

„You should have seen his face.“

Well, fuck.


	2. Chapter 2

Will spends the rest of his ‚day‘ staring at the ceiling, ignoring the folder. He mechanically eats his dinner, mind at once numbed but thoughts racing. They come with 6 orderlies for checkup and cleaning after dinner, as every day, Will stoically enduring everything, following every instruction calmly. Straps on, held down, wait, mattress check, cleaning of toilet, get up, straps off. Every fucking day.

He flops down on he mattress with a groan when they leave, knowing he still has 3 hours of light, yet tired beyond measure already. He closes his eyes, trying to find some peace of quiet to conjure their mind palace. He tries entering through the Norman chapel, but all the candles are gone and there are dark clouds gathering outside the windows. He cannot pass. He shakes his head on the mattress and tries again, their house in Marseille this time. The little bedroom. The bed dissolves into ashes before his inner eye, the stench of smoke and burning furnishings stinging his nose. Will sighs, tears prickling his eyes, and withdraws, collapsing into himself once more. He hasn’t been able to reach Hannibal. At all. The hollow place in him expands and his hands tighten into fists, nails biting into his own skin.  
He forces himself to breathe calmly, the pain a vicious thing, coiling within him. At least he knows that Hannibal is alive after today, though suffering. Alive being the important thing. Will sighs through his nose and tries to remember how Hannibal looked that day when they left the cabin to go to the harbor, so sure to escape them. He conjures the image, probably more gaunt now, probably even more silver. Probably more lines, deeper, pain digging deep. He would always keep his back straight though. Will smiles at the thought, the tears escaping his eyes.  
He remembers how Hannibal had kissed him against the door there in the cold, the only thing warm their mouths, freezing after returning from the ice fishing. How they stumbled across the living room, laughing at themselves, falling over their own feet, ending up halfway in the kitchen, not giving a shit. How it was slow that time, not kinky or vicious, but laced with the expectations of the life together when they would settle down. How Will had fed Hannibal bits of smoked fish with butter afterwards, ending up throwing some of their clothes into the garbage, unsalvageable. How Hannibal had looked at him. 

Will swallows and his hands come up to cover his face. He breathes in deeply, trying to conjure Hannibals smell. He tries again, his eyebrows drawing together in concentration, and he starts fidgeting, the only thing he can smell the stench of disinfectant. He yells quietly through clenched teeth, tears running down his face in earnest when he can’t. He sobs and then hits the wall with his right fist, starting to ‚attack‘ it with both fists after a moment. The intercom crackles.

„Mr. Graham. Please calm down. Otherwise privilege of darkness will be revoked.“

Will sobs but his hands drop. He rolls into a tight ball and weeps.

____________________

 

Weeks pass. Alana starts coming by once a week, exchanging folders, the crimes laughingly simple. Must pay good though, because she once comments on the institution paying for itself. Apparently he is a one man think tank. How nice. Will wonders why she needs money anyway but refuses to ask. 

The tests they do are gruesome, electroshock and drugs alternating with some psychological bullshit. He endures.

It’s when Alana suddenly comes by a second time in the same week that he knows the game has changed somehow. 187 days, now. She doesn’t waste time with niceties this time.

„Hannibal has killed a nurse in a bid to escape. He used a technique not unlike Abel Gideon back then. He has informed us that he would start killing one ‚pig‘ after the other, each week. He did not make demands.“

Will grins wryly, looking at her sideways, his back against the wall, knees drawn up.

„And now you want me to give you an idea how you could possibly make him behave.“

Alana sighs, dark circles under her eyes.

„Frederic is not amused, the hospital staff scared as hell. Even if we lock him up all the time in a straightjacket we all know he would find a way.“

Will licks his teeth.

„What’s in it for me?“

Alana looks at him for a moment, a wry smile mixing with a look of disgust.

„No conjugal visits, that’s for sure. But as I know that you have been so utterly bored, I would let you exercise in the gym each day. Swim once a week. How does that sound?“

Like heaven, if Will is honest. He keeps his features schooled though, neutral, trying not to give anything away. 

„And that TV you promised. And I get a remote.“

Alana almost snarls at him. 

„Fine. But this has to be good.“

Will smiles softly and then looks her directly in the eye.

„Well, it’s easy, really. All you have to do is promise him you’ll give him information about me if he behaves.“

Alana fidgets for a moment.

„It would all be a lie.“

Will chuckles dryly.

„You said you’d already convinced him. Just feed him more lies.“

He faces the other wall again, closing his eyes.

„And you better keep the promise, Alana.“

Alana kicks the chair back and leaves, Will smiling bitterly to himself.

______________________

 

Day 207. Will spends more and more time in his stream, his body slowly feeling more comfortable after several weeks of intense workouts. Even if for just an hour, the shower after the best part of it. Alana returns to exchanging folders, ignoring his questions about Hannibal. He gives up after the second week, deciding not to push it. The TV is installed after another two weeks, the remote given to him for 2 hours each day in the evening. Well, it would have been too good. They won’t let him watch news, the only channels some movie networks. Still better than nothing. He watches old westerns, his mind using the inane dialogue as static to finally shut off. He starts feeling better slowly, though he takes care not to let it show, following their rules painstakingly.


	3. Chapter 3

Day 245. A news ticker across the movie he is watching informs him, that it’s September 2nd, apparently some kind of anniversary for the channel. He starts, freezing on the spot. One month until they will be married for a year. First anniversary. He traces the empty space where his ring was and smiles grimly, covering the branding with his right palm, blinking away the tears in his eyes.  
He turns the TV off.

________________________

 

Day 246. Alana comes by, agitated. She literally throws herself into the chair opposite of Will. 

„We need your help again.“

He stretches out on his back, the very picture of quiet acceptance though his senses are on high alert.

„Oh? However may I help you.“

Alana pulls a face, her voice acidic.

„Don’t play dumb, Will. We need your help with Hannibal. There is a freak out there that’s killing young girls. He skins them.“

He tilts his head so he can look at her.

„And you need Hannibal… why? You could do the profile. Or I could.“

Alana shakes her head, seething, though for once not at him.

„Frederic wants to show off his progress. He has… pulled the card that I let him walk into the trap back then with Dolarhyde. I guess I owe him that.“

Will hums, and waits. She crosses her arms across her chest defensively.

„Also, Jack needs some kind of success. You guys left him wounded badly back then, as you know he resigned but they pulled him back for your hunt. And now he’s stuck in an office, overseeing trainees.“

She sighs, pursing her lips.

„We want him to be able to show off his leadership potential one last time. One of his trainees has to get Hannibal to solve the case with her.“

Will laughs at her. It’s beyond ridiculous. Hannibal would never take the bait, even if he didn’t have the experience with Miriam Lass.

Alana waits patiently, her eyes furious but calm. She stands up and comes close to the glass wall.

„Will.“

Will shakes his head and sobers up slowly. He groans and pushes himself up, meets her on the other side of the glass, the closest they have been for months.  
There are dark circles again under her eyes, almost hidden by makeup. And the pearl earrings are fake. His voice is soft.

„Why are you here, Alana?“

She jerks, her mask slipping for a moment, pain bleeding through. They’re all wearing masks these days.

„Cut the bullshit, Will, you know why.“

He licks his lips, unfazed by the hostility.

„What happened. I’m probably the only one who can understand.“

She sighs, some of the armor breaking. 

„I should hate you…“

He doesn’t answer, having accepted his part in that part of the play a long time ago. She takes a moment, closing her eyes, her temple leaning against the glass.

„Margot has frozen my accounts. She wants me to give up your custody. She doesn’t understand that…“ 

He smiles wryly, his gaze very kind.

„… that it’s the only thing keeping you sane, I gather. You cannot kill Hannibal but you can make my life hell. But she wants you to stay home with your son, doesn’t she? Use your time solely for them. That’s why you had to start selling my… gifts. My insights. Too bad you had to negotiate for Hannibals handling.“

Alana swallows, eyes still closed. He can smell her perfume through the air holes, still the same after all these years. He flashes back for an instant, feeling her lips on his so long ago in an ill-fated attempt at normalcy. He decides to take the plunge.

„Alana, I could not -not- choose him. You know that. You’ve always known that. But we don’t need to be … enemies? I’m not trying to be your friend again, I know that would be ludicrous, just negotiate a cease fire if you so will. Think about it.“

She nods once after a few seconds, and turns away without looking at him. Her voice is steely again when she addresses him over her shoulder.

„Will. Think about how we can get Hannibal to help us as well. Your … insight will be part of the cease fire negotiations. I will return tomorrow morning.“

She walks down the long hallway, her back straight and Will smiles a real smile for the first time in months. 

_______________________

 

She looks better the next morning, something in her shifted. She pushes a chive-cheese bagel through the slot and sits down, waits until he has eaten. He briefly wonders if there’s something in it and then dismisses the thought as inconsequential. He’ll find out one way or another. He smirks.

„You’ve given it some thought…“

„I have. I hope so have you. What can you offer me?“

Will shrugs, his demeanor open.

„There may be a way. But I’ll need something more than this cease fire agreement if I am to tell you.“

Her eyebrows rise up, silently inquiring and Will continues, pacing around his little cell.

„You have made it so that Hannibal thinks I went back to Molly. If he ever gets out he will hunt her down. You know that. So this is my deal: I help you to get Hannibal to help a trainee. I will pick her from a selection you will request from Jack. Make sure to include some personal information. After Hannibal successfully helps her to catch that killer, you -will- inform him that I am here. In this institution.“ 

He stops pacing, leveling gazes with her.

„And you will instruct your orderlies to call me by my correct name.“

He can see her jaw working, trying to find the trap.

„I can’t believe that this is all you want, Will.“

He smiles grimly. 

„The only other thing I could possibly expect in prison you cannot give me. Not yet anyway. Time will tell on that one.“

He can see her swallow, the thinly veiled threat a daunting reminder of their nature. Her phone beeps and she checks it, fidgeting with it for a moment. 

„They have found another body.“

She raises her eyes, locking gazes with him.

„We therefore have a deal.“

Will nods, excitement settling in his gut, trying to contain his grin as he starts rattling down his plan.

„Very well. You have kept your word before and I surmise from the text you just received that time is short. So, I will trust in your word now.“

He takes a deep breath, his heart racing.

„This is what you’ll do: Though Hannibal may be adventurous and even kinky at times, sexual depravity is not among his proclivities, as I can assure you. Put him next to some sexual predators. They have to be the lowest category of scum you can manage, definitely prone to try to make that trainees life hell when she visits him.“

He swallows tightly, feeling like a traitor but pushing on regardless. The end justifies the means and all that bullshit.

„He will find the behavior extremely rude and disgusting, likely resulting in him helping her. He won’t make it easy though. That I cannot help with.“

Alana snorts, shaking her head.

„No one can help with that.“

Will grins and for an instant they connect again. The moment breaks. He sighs and continues.

„Get me those profiles of some of the trainees. I will need to pick someone based on looks, background and interests. She has to be interesting enough for him to care about the rudeness against her. And Jack has to go and antagonize him first.“

Alana tilts her head, thinking.

„I guess it could work.“

She taps her phone, and pushes herself up, still looking down.

„I will have the profiles for you tomorrow morning.“

She leaves and Will closes his eyes, his forehead to the glass, praying silently to gods he doesn’t believe in.

It’s only when the intercom crackles and he is called to step back for them to clean his cell that he smiles. They call him ‚Graham-Lecter‘.


	4. Chapter 4

Alana doesn’t return the next morning.   
Instead, Jack steps up to his cell, gaze grave, expression extremely tired. He holds a dozen manila folders in his hands. He sits down across from his cell and looks at Will for the better part of 30 minutes, Will only gazing back calmly, sitting cross legged on his mattress.

„Hello Will.“

His voice is tired when he speaks, defeated. Will tilts his head, expression kept carefully neutral.

„Hi Jack.“

Jack leans forward, puts the folders on the floor, clasping his hands, elbows on his knees.

„The last time I saw you, you were hanging from Hannibals grip, dead, face purple, Hannibals hands bleeding from the scratches you put on them. I must say, whatever I expected to find in that warehouse - it wasn’t that.“

Will smiles wryly, staying silent, suppressing the impulse to fidget, listening closely to Jacks voice when he continues.

„You two had me dancing to your tune… I followed you, visited places you’d been for over a year. And then they call me back to investigate a pedophile killing and what do we find - your DNA. Imagine that. And then Alana and Margot reappear from who knows where as well. That pedophile slash trafficker ring - oh yes, I got it - really did a number on the FBI. They were so confident to catch you.“

Jack shakes his head, laughing softly.

„But not me, you know. When you made a travesty of that woman, reenacting Cassie Boyle I looked at that photo and I knew - I knew you would not be caught there. So I put a few of my people on standby. When Freddie dropped the bomb - good job there by the way, you only forgot that she can actually type with a pencil taped to her cast - when Freddie dropped the bomb I went and had all planes checked that left there that night. You really shouldn’t have had Mr. Wellington killed.“

Will grinds his teeth, the argument with Hannibal in the old volvo returning full force. What he would give right now to yell at Hannibal again. He forces himself to focus on Jack again.

„Since Alana was back I could finally ask her about the bounty and the information she had. We knew you were in Canada by then, we just didn’t know where. I had to pick a coast and I chose the west coast, staying in Seattle. When that receptionist at the motel recognized you I knew that you wanted to take a cargo ship right away. So I put the whole area on lockdown. And then the helicopter spotted you and that’s all she wrote.“

Indeed. Wills throat is dry, wondering how they managed to stay off the grid for so long. He sighs, his voice deliberately soft, unthreatening.

„And now you’re here.“

„And now I’m here, yes. Once more with profiles for you to work through. Wondering if I’ll ever get over this.“

Jack stands up, comes close. His voice booms through the hallway.

„You fucked me over, Will!!“

Jack drops his head back, visibly reigning himself in, shaking his head.

„What happened there at that cliff, Will? Why?“

Will presses his lips together for a moment, and lets some of his own darkness creep into his gaze.

„It happened before the cliff, Jack. Way before. In a way, even before it all started, when you introduced us. It was inevitable. But the dragon was the cleansing fire that fueled my becoming.“

He pushes himself up, slowly walking up to the glass.

„I became that night. Myself.“

„And then you went and married the fucker.“

Will clicks his tongue, grinning.

„Language, Jack.“

Jack steps up to the glass, his breath fogging it. His eyes are wide with fury and sorrow. 

„I wish they’d let you die there in that warehouse, Will. I really do. But they desperately wanted to be able to interrogate you both. And then Alana intervened with that, bribing some Senator and placing the plan to have Hannibal believe this idiotic lie.“

Jack steps back again, shoulders dropping, stance defeated, looking up when Will speaks.

„Will Graham is dead. He died on that cliff.“

Jack sighs, closing his eyes for a moment.

„Very well.“

He pauses for a moment, his whole face disgusted when he continues.

„Mr. Graham-Lecter, tell me who I should send to interrogate Dr. Graham-Lecter.“

Will grins, his hand opening, stretched out towards Jack.

„Give me those files.“

_____________________________

 

He spends the next 6 hours working through the profiles, for once not chided when he skips his meal. He narrows it down to ‚big eyed, blonde or brunette, intelligent, haunted, father figure deprived, ambitious‘.   
In the end her profile photo stares at him, dark blonde hair bleached platinum, big eyes a mix between despair and spite. Her academic achievements and education fits, too. He takes the photo and holds it up for Jack to see.

„Her. A Clarice Starling. You have to make sure she thinks this is on her merits. That way she will open herself to Hannibals… special interrogation style. Have Frederic antagonize her as to her gender. Did you put those scumbags on Hannibals floor?“

He cringes inwardly, knowing it’s his fault and dreading -that- discussion already. If it comes. When, he corrects himself.

„Why her? What will she mean to him?“

Will grins wryly. 

„Nothing at first. But she is like a mix between Abigail and Misha, wrapped up in a delicate bundle.“

He holds his hands very still on the folder, heart beating in his throat, praying Jack will not catch on.

„Be sure to mention an emotional background story with some kind of animal, have her make one up if needed. A horse maybe, no better a lamb.“

Jack snorts.

„A lamb? Why on earth would I make up a story about a lamb?“

„He likes lamb, Jack. It’s sacrificial. He will take the story as sacrifice for his knowledge.“

Wills mouth is dry, he covers his nervousness with picking up the folders, pushing them through the slot, hers on top when he’s done.

Jack receives the folders again, looking down at the picture and then back up at Will.

„Very well. We will talk again after Hannibal has helped us.“

He purses his lips at Will and stalks off, not looking back. Will closes his eyes, hoping against all odds that Jack doesn’t make the connection to the ‚lamb of God‘.


	5. Chapter 5

Alana comes to him close to his allowed exercise hour, waiting quietly until the orderlies have strapped him to the cart for transport. The bite mask muffles his words a bit.

„Thank you for keeping your word.“

Alana raises her eyebrows, looking away for a second. 

„I also keep my promises, Will. I must thank you though for the… offer of the cease fire. Apparently it is the reason why my wife actually talks to me again.“

She steps closer, her gaze stoney but clear.

„Therefore you may shower unattended from now on. I expect you to behave yourself. If you do not, all standing privileges will be revoked. Understood?“

Will nods slowly, blinking rapidly. He works out in a daze, his body catching on much sooner than his mind, desperate for some relief, having repressed his urges for so long now. He takes off his sweaty clothes, stepping under the water, tilting his head up. He puts his left hand on the tiles, allowing himself to remember and it’s like floodgates opened. He sobs, tears uncontrollable, the pain not alleviating his straining hard on in the slightest, and takes himself in hand. His mind flashes back to another hand threading their fingers through his against tiles similar to these, a broad chest draping itself along his back, lips ghosting along his neck. He jerks and comes painfully, sinks to his knees slowly, breaking down in the corner of the shower, his sobs echoing off the walls.

___________________________

 

Day 260. Exactly two weeks until their anniversary. Will swallows tightly, pacing in miniature circles in his little cell, changing direction every 5 turns. He’s already changed direction 106 times today. He lets his head drop back, rolling his shoulders, frustration eating along his nerves in ever increasing intensity. There has been no news, no info, no… nothing. Alana hasn’t been by either. No one to talk to except doctors. Who ignore him besides medicinal issues. Will sighs again, continuing his circling. 

 

___________________________

 

Day 263. Jack enters the hallway in his heavy, confident steps, buffeted by a plan working. Or so Will assumes, interpreting the smug expression Jack wears across his features. Jack sits down on the little chair and crosses his legs, looking at Will for a long while. Will waits.

„You know Will, you really are not as clever as you think.“

Wills stomach drops, dreading the next few words, fighting to keep a mask of neutral boredom.

„Oh? Do tell, Jack.“

Jack grins at him.

„Well, you thought you were so clever picking that trainee… father figure, my ass. You can just as well file for divorce now, Will.“

Will turns away abruptly, his stomach doing somersaults in relief. His mind keeps chanting ‚he didn’t catch the lamb, he didn’t catch the lamb‘ and he licks his lips, injecting insecurity into his voice.

„Why would I do that?“

Jack chuckles.

„Hannibal is fascinated by Clarice. And she by him. Oh, of course I’m officially telling her off for running to him, but so far she has been rather productive. She told that little story about running away and taking that lamb with her, the others screaming and he just sucked it up.“

He cannot not ask. Well, it fits with supposedly emotional hurt.

„Has he… asked about me?“

Jack really enjoys this. Will can see his smirk from the corner of his eyes.

„Once. By the way, your little plan with those scumbags worked. Although Hannibal has killed this ‚Miggs‘ for it. Well, good riddance.“

Will nods to himself, reaching inside himself for the pain, forcing tears up before he turns back to Jack, taking a defiant stance, his tone clipped.

„Glad I could help.“

Jack gets up and comes closer, waits until Will looks at him properly.

„He has a new pet now, Will. You will rot here and he will amuse himself with new obsessions when available. I hope it was worth it.“

He turns and Will closes his eyes, the darkness behind them threatening to spill through.

__________________

 

That evening he watches another old western, his thoughts at once relieved and troubled. Oh, he’s sure there is no replacement but still… Well, he guesses as long as there’s no request for divorce. He starts, brows drawing together. Hannibal would not know that he didn’t divorce. They probably lied about that as well. He hits the wall, once, but refrains to let the rage run. They would only take his remote away. He drops his head back and raises his eyes back to the little screen across the hallway. Suddenly there’s a newsticker across it and the words ‚Senators daughter kidnapped by Buffalo Bill?‘ run across it. He fidgets, knowing the stakes have been raised.


	6. Chapter 6

Day 267. He watches an old horror movie, when the TV is turned off, followed by the red lights of the alert. Will jumps up, trying to see something along the hallway, hammering at the glass. The only thing answering is silence.

The next morning starts as usual, the orderlies giving nothing away.  
Will gives them the skunk eye but can’t much do about it. He is still worrying with his spoon at his porridge when Alana steps up to his cell.

„Alana. This is unexpected.“

She doesn’t waste time, her voice exhausted and tinged with… fear. It makes Will salivate.

„He has escaped.“

Will closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them he lets the demure mask of the last few months fall away, feels the antlers breach his skin. He can see Alana feel it, see it in his face, she takes a step back, fidgeting.

„Do I have to be afraid, Will?“

He tilts his head.

„Of whom. Him? Or me?“

She locks gazes with his.

„Both.“

Will hums, considering.

„His promise in regards to you has already been fulfilled. And I gather you were clever enough not to be rude when you visited him this time.“

He steps forward to the glass, watching her take another step back. He smiles.

„You have kept your promises to me. I cannot blame you how you feel about me or about what I have done. But you need to be wise now, Alana.“

He doesn’t explain further. She wouldn’t want to hear it anyway. He can see her swallow.

„He will come for you.“

He raises his eyebrows, tilting his head in consideration.

„He doesn’t know I’m here. He thinks I’m with Molly. And he thinks you know where. But I don’t think that’s his first priority. He’s probably too hurt to go after me right away. He’ll go after an easier target first.“

Alana raises her chin, her thoughts catching up with his.

„Chilton.“

Will grins darkly.

„Yes.“

She looks at him for a long moment, her gaze almost kind.

„You know I cannot let you out. But I’ll try to warn Molly.“

He lets the gratitude show clearly on his face.

„Thank you.“

She turns away, hesitating.

„I won’t be able to come back for a while I guess. They’re putting us under FBI protection again. Is there… anything else you need?“

He closes his eyes. Easy now, nice and unsuspicious.

„I would like to write, maybe essays about the books I read, or whatever, I don’t know yet. But I need mental exercise, especially if I don’t get any cases to profile anymore. Just get me some pencils and paper? Please.“

She nods, mind occupied with things to come.

„Good bye, Will.“

He smiles wryly.

„Good bye, Alana.“

_______________________

 

The pencils and papers arrive the next day. He sits down with them immediately and starts writing, an in-depth discussion of the paradox of time travel in all the cheap movies he has seen these last months. He chews on the ends, his heart picking up speed, when they don’t call him on it.

_______________________

 

Day 272. Will fidgets, and decides that today is the day. He continues writing his essay in the mornings, before his workout, both pencils already small with use, the little locked sharpener full to the brim again. He takes the small one and sharpens it again, carefully changing the angle until a splinter of wood breaks off. His heart beats loudly in his ears, breath short. He puts it in his palm, continuing to write, hiding the break in the pencil with his thumb. When they come he carefully places them down, for them to see and account, the splintered one in back. 

They strap him in and wheel him down, the way burned into his mind by now. Two times left, three right. The training room has a skylight, it must be below an inner courtyard. The guards take the straps off, put the new clothes for him to change into after his shower into a corner and lock the door. There’s nothing here to use as a weapon anyway, only a treadmill and a boxing sack with some worn gloves. Without the straps.  
He walks nonchalantly by the clothes and bends down, letting the splinter fall down on them before turning to work out as usual. Nothing here to see. He spends some time on the treadmill, nerves calm yet frayed, hinged on all or nothing. He finishes after what he surmises could be his usual time, moving the treadmill a foot away from its usual place, taking the clothes and the splinter into the adjoining bathroom. He turns the shower on, letting the water run, takes the new clothes and wets them, wringing them into a tight cord. He places them behind the door, just out of sight and starts to spread soap all over the floor, careful not to slip on it, using the splinter to draw it from the dispenser in gouts. He surveys his work and sighs, closing his eyes briefly. He takes the splinter and cleans it, and then carefully uses it to cut into the skin at his left wrist, tracing the branding, once more in red after a few moments. When he is done he flings droplets of blood out the door into the exercise room. He bends and retrieves one of the makeshift cords, and waits.

There’s shouting outside the door, and Wills heart slows down, reality crawling almost to stop. They come in, 4 of them, chemical maces drawn as per instruction. He takes the arm of the first one and flings him across the room, the man crashing head first against the wall. The second levels the mace at him and Will kicks at his feet, the soap doing the rest, the man landing heavily on his back. Will throws the cord around the third, using his own weight to spin him around, and shoves him into the fourth and out of the bathroom. The men fall together, the treadmill blocking their usual way and Will turns to the man on the floor, using the other cord to cut off his air supply and render him unconscious, the action taking a felt eternity, the mans heels scrabbling on the floor, the soap removing all purchase. Will is panting now and he takes the mace, straining to hear the sounds from the training room. There is a screeching sound when the treadmill is pushed back and Will grins, knowing at least one of them has his back turned now. He literally jumps out of the door, doing a somersault and the orderly watching the door releases the spray way over Wills head. He comes up, hitting him in the solar plexus with full force, the man collapsing at his feet. He turns to the man at the treadmill and grins, the orderly shouting at him in fury and fear. Will raises his mace, and takes a step forward only to see the man reach for his own - or the place where it was supposed to be, having falling out in the tumble over the treadmill. Will targets his eyes, feeling utterly calm when he releases the spray, the man going down, screeching, trying to hide behind the treadmill.

Will breathes deeply, once, before he bends down and removes the door keys and an electronic key card from the orderly wheezing for breath at his feet. He checks for radios and removes the two he finds, no guilt rearing it’s ugly head when he finds the man back at the bathrooms wall dead. He leaves the training room, breaking the key off in the lock when he locks it behind himself. The red lights are on, though no sirens have gone off. 

He carefully stays out of the cameras view, retracing the steps back to the corridor where his hallway branches off of. He turns the other way, taking the keys into his fist as a weapon. 

He uses this primitive weapon on the guard rushing through a steel door to help his colleagues, the key going deep into the mans eye. He sprints through the closing door, pausing right after, all his senses primed. There is shouting to his left and… he grins, turning right, hurrying down the hallway. 

There is a big door down the left side, and he catches a glimpse at the utilitarian kitchen when he steps by quickly. He pushes through after a moment, not much choice anyway and looks around wildly, the single cook staring at him, thoroughly spooked. Will grins at him, and walks over slowly, taking a sharp looking knife from the counter, feeling better already. 

He leans on the counter nonchalantly, trying for charming, voice soft and kind.

„Now, where would I find the exit for employees?“

_____________________

 

It’s only when he is on the highway, police cars passing him without taking notice, the cooks car complaining but working, that the shaking starts. He has to pull over, looking at his wrist, bleeding profusely, turning on the radio. There is no news and Will grins sharply, realizing that Alana did not rise the alarm yet. Now, who would’ve thought that. He tries to calm his breathing, examining his options.


	7. Chapter 7

He stays in Florida. He sells the car to a crap yard, using the money to get a hair cut and some decent clothes, the ones found in the car so ill fitting as to be almost unusable. He tries to call Chiyo, but the number is not connected anymore. He tries to enter their mind palace again, but the Norman chapel is cold and gray. He spends their first anniversary drinking cheap whiskey under a bridge, refusing to let the tears flow, the news of his escape rising very little general alarm, everybody still more interested in Hannibal.  
He tracks down Molly and her son and takes to hunting down little gangsters for money in the closer towns. Unofficially of course, necessity overruling everything. He stays close to her though he never shows himself, waiting for the inevitable, sleeping in a little boat he found in the everglades, even the alligators weary of him, face always hidden behind huge glasses and a cap. He fishes for food. The FBI comes by and talk to her and it hurts still to see her cry on the veranda through the binoculars. He has to wipe at treacherous tears when he sees Winston there in the sun, old now, seemingly content. 

He reads ‚Tattle Crime‘. Freddies finger seem to have healed nicely and her tongue has healed as well, though she doesn’t speak as fast anymore in the interviews he sometimes sees on the TVs in the sleazy bars. She’s making good money from her story. The one time she shows her book cover to the camera he squeezes the whiskey glass so hard it breaks, the picture of them in their gray suits, their minds still in honeymoon mode, radiant, battering his defenses. 

He reads about Clarice Starling tracking down Buffalo Bill and then being raised up into the heavens of the FBI. He traces her photo, imploring her image to trigger fate. His wrist heals again. 

The news about Frederics demise bring a smile to his face, bittersweet. He keeps that newspaper, safe with the few items he calls his own in a trunk on the boat. 

He goes down to Miami at Christmas, walking by that apartment complex, seeing the big party in the penthouse, looking up from the beach. He turns and doesn’t look back, returning to his little boat.

Winston dies shortly after new years. Molly buries him at the edge of her yard, and Will sits with him when they’re not there, desperation stealing itself into his soul. He finds his favorite coffee cup there after a few weeks and his heart seizes. He takes the cup with him and doesn’t return, watching only from afar after that.

 

_______________________

 

He reads about the career of Clarice Starling in ‚Tattle Crime‘, its swift rise followed by a quick fall after a gone wrong capture. He grins grimly, feeling strangely akin to her. It’s when she disappears that he finally knows, the despair molding with fury to a tight ball of terror in his gut. 

Hannibal is not coming. 

_______________________

 

He ups his game, deciding he needs more money. He starts hunting the drug dealers now, trying to time it right so they will carry sufficient money. He gets a few more scars, though they are superficial, mostly defensive wounds on his arms. He sows himself up, a grim satisfaction in the knowledge that Hannibal will just hate his handiwork. When he finally has close to a hundred grand, he buys a burner phone and a macbook and tries to remember how Hannibal contacted Chiyo with it. He ends up leaving messages in dozens of forms, all saying one thing - ‚where is Achilles‘, plus his number. The phone stays silent, so he does it again the next week, and the next. 

When the text comes, he almost weeps with relief. It’s short, only one word: ‚why‘. He spends an eternity agonizing over his only chance and finally just sends one word back: ‚where‘. The phone is silent for another two weeks. Will drowns himself in blood, getting vicious in his hunting, the papers calling him a ‚Blood Saint‘. 

She is waiting for him in his boat when he returns after another night of clearing the streets. He sows yet another knife cut up silently, this one across his already mangled shoulder. He doesn’t feel the pain anymore. Her voice is soft, melodic, a memory of a dream.

„I told him it was wrong to believe them.“

He is silent, words nothing he believes in very much right now. She continues haltingly, treading carefully.

„I told you, all sorrows can be borne when told in a story. Why did you decide to end your story in that warehouse?“

Will swallows, his voice almost inaudible, refusing to work properly at first try, the tone tinged with fury.

„I did not end our story there. I wanted to escape the fucking death penalty. Heighten our chances maybe.“

Chiyo tilts her head, regards him for a long moment.

„I have never seen him hurt as much as when he told me about it. He believes you wanted out of your life with him. Their lies only confirmed his deepest fears. It would not be safe for you to visit him.“

His answer is swift.

„I don’t care. It’s his life anyway, not mine.“ 

Will shakes his head and laughs bitterly, flashing back to a conversation back on a plane an eternity ago. 

„He really is an idiot sometimes…“

He swallows and crosses his arms over his chest.

„But so am I. Gods fools twirling their fake noses and tripping each other up…“

He steps up to her, feeling oh so tired.

„Where is he, Chiyo?“

She sighs and gets up, her hand reaching up, tracing his cheek. He closes his eyes.

„They are in Argentina. I will send you the exact address. We will not see each other again.“

She pulls his face down and ghosts a kiss on his forehead, before stepping back.

„Good bye, Will Graham. Remember that Patroclus died on the field of war.“

He smile softly at that, his eyes weary.

„I already have.“

 

_______________________

 

Chiyo keeps her word and Will packs his things up, sinks the boat. He returns the coffee cup to Winstons grave, standing next to a bottle of the disgusting sweet wine she likes so much. He knows she’ll understand.  
He re-enters Miami, checking into a cash only motel, his first night with air conditioning keeping him awake and thrashing. He orders clothes online, and starts dressing himself up step by step, finally going to an exclusive mens tailor and gets a suit fitted. Dark gray, gray shirt. He cannot afford the platinum cuff links but then silver ones will have to do. He asks Chiyo for a last favor, the info for the private plane flight depicting his departure for the 1st of March. 

He has the barber not only cut his mop of hair down a bit the day before his flight, but take off his beard as well, the scars silvery on his skin.  
He gets dress shoes on the way back, and puts on the suit, the man in the mirror a stranger. 

Will throws a cigarette on the duvet when he leaves, a fire the best way to destroy his DNA, the few possessions he has. He takes no luggage with him. 

He is surprised when there is a courier at the little off-track airport, the little plane waiting as promised. He takes the offered envelope silently, smiling his thanks, and enters the plane, not looking back. It’s only when he is across the border that he opens it, fingers shaking, when he pulls it out. His fingernails bite into his skin, but he refuses to let the tears fall.

 

_________________________

 

He steps off the plane, the wind dragging at his clothes. He starts walking down the dusty road, his fingers cramping on the envelope, the only way left the one forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you find any glitches in the story in relation to the book, please let me know.
> 
> Also, I DO love Hannigram - the next is called 'Salvation'.
> 
> What comes after that or how long that'll be... I don't know.  
> But there'll be something :)
> 
> Comments are appreciated (as always^^)


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